Aramek, Godsday, Fireseek 4, 591 Common Year

In the morning Aramek pulls Parwyn aside and tells his tale of the evening before, starting with his guard duty at the palace, the attack by the assassins of the Scarlet Brotherhood and the attempt to abduct the prince, and finally the discovery of Parwn’s son Reece’s journal and the map and statue.

Parwyn is at once shocked and fearful, fully realizing that the break-in was more than just petty thieves looking for potions. “This is worse than I had feared,” he says.

“Master,” says Aramek, “Prince Prospero has asked for your indulgence so that, for the time being, he be allowed to keep the items until this mystery is solved. He asks this for the sake of the security of Westkeep and all of us law-abiding citizens.”

Parwn sighs heavily, “Even in death, Reece will blacken the name of our family it seems. If you speak to Prince Prospero again, you tell him that I have disowned Reece, or I would if he were alive.”

Aramek adds, “He seems a kindly man truly, dedicated to the safety of Westkeep and someone who wants to bring peace to this city and the surrounding region.”

“All the more reason why I did not want them to know about Reece or his journal; I should have destroyed it when I had the chance,” Parwyn says.

“Master,” the Prince has requested that my Guard squad accompany a delegation he is putting together to go into the Hool Marshes, in order to work out some kind of agreement or treaty with the lizardfolk and it sounds as if it will be leaving fairly soon. The Prince has asked that none of this be discussed with anyone. I ask your permission to participate in this endeavor. Perhaps, letting people know that I am on an herb expedition into the marshes will be a perfect front for what we will actually be doing. I can assure you that while I am gone I shall be on the look-out for any unusual plants, herbs or other useful flora.”

Parwyn gets a worried and somewhat resigned look on his face and then, with a fatherly tone says, “Aramek, my boy, you’ve really become like part of my family. Your Master Estaldir chose you well, and I promised him I would look after you. But I also know I cannot follow you everywhere and I realize that you must make your own way. You also don’t need my permission or any excuses from me to go into the marshes when you’ve been ordered to do so by Prince. If they need a cover I am sure they will provide one.”

Parwyn thinks for a moment, “I wish my son had been more like you. For that reason I don’t wish to lose you. Come with me. I think I know of a way to put the odds in your favor.”

Master Parwyn leads Aramek up to the loft and he opens the storage room. He then picks two vials and hands them to Aramek. “Take these with you into the marshes. They are potions of invisibility. Each dose will last about five minutes. I hope these are enough to keep you safe from harm. Take them with my blessings, and see if you can find some useful herbs to bring back with you.” He smiles warmly at Aramek.

With a great sense of relief, Aramek thanks his master and says; “Master, thank you, and I promise I will bring you such herbs and plants as will make you, and this shop, known throughout Keoland!”

Just then, it is probably only a little after 7 am, a couple of young men walk into the shop. One is quite burly with a blond crew cut and dull blue eyes. He is wearing a rough tunic with short sleeves to show off the colorful and grotesque tattoos adorning his huge biceps. Beside him is a scrawny looking youth in studded black leather with only a strip of spiky black hair down the center of his head. He is a beautiful young man with the olive complexion of the Oeridians, but piercing baby blue eyes. He smiles, but there is a hard edge to his smile. A little monkey follows the latter into the shop and jumps up onto a table beside him.

“Be good Cyrus,” says the scrawny young man in black leather with the spiky ridge of hair. “Hello, I’m Dion. My associate here is Cole. Are you Parwyn?” His tone is insolent, and he looks over Parwyn and Aramek appraisingly. His larger friend stands behind him cracking his knuckles and grinning evilly. The monkey Cyrus has begun relieving himself into one of the bowls on the table.

Parwyn pales, but he steps forward in front of Aramek, “I am Parwyn. How can I help you?”

Aramek immediately whispers, “Vestigu sorch-kiraso,” and he is cloaked in the shimmering light of his Mage Armor. He then smiles tightly and says, as he steps back in front of Master Parwyn, “It’s alright master. I can take care of these customers.” And looking at them both, with the words “Estu magia raketo” ready on his lips, he says, with a tight edge to his voice, “What business do you have here? And please control your pet.”

Dion looks at Aramek with a sneer, “I didn’t come here to talk to some mouthy apprentice. And Cyrus looks like he’s doing alright.” He glances over at the monkey and snickers.

Cole moves up to Dion’s side and glares at Aramek. “Yeah, piss off apprentice!” Though he was obviously trying to scare Aramek into backing down, there is something about this young thug that strikes Aramek as ridiculous. He is like a little boy pretending to be a scary grown up. At the same time, Aramek realizes that Cole does have the size and muscle to back up his threats.

Dion looks past Aramek and addresses Parwyn, “We’re here to collect Fergus’ fee. You forgot to pay him for the lock.” With a nasty grin Dion adds, “So in accord with the policies of the Locksmiths Guild, we’re going to have to ask for a late fee and hazard pay since Fergus was harassed and forced to leave before he could be paid. So that will be 180 gold admirals, but we’ll take Keoland lions too if that’s all you’ve got.”

Parwyn steps forward and pushes Aramek back with a stern look. “This is my shop and my responsibility Aramek. This man Fergus is owed his fair wages.” Parwyn turns back to Dion. “How do I know you’re really from Fergus or the Locksmiths?”

“Fair question. Here.” Dion presents to Parwyn a paper, apparently a notarized bill, complete with a seal bearing Fergus’ mark.

Cyrus finishes his business in the now not-so-empty bowl and jumps up on Dion’s shoulder, chattering gleefully. 

Parwyn sighs and says, “Very well then, please wait a moment. Aramek, why don’t you get some tea for our guests? I’ll be back down in a minute. Charl, Latih, come upstairs with me.”

Aramek responds to his master with, “Yes, Master Parwyn, as you wish.”

Aramek realizes that there are two of them but also knows that, should push come to shove, he can, and will, cause damage to at least one of them, should any violence be necessary and he is not about to show any fear. If he has learned anything from his time on the night watch, it is that whether one is facing a belligerent drunk or a common thief, one never shows fear – regardless of what is going on inside oneself.

He turns first to Cole and then to Dion, looking them each in turn directly in the eyes, as if to say, ‘Don’t underestimate me.’ All the while, he is ready to unleash his magic missile directly at Cole.

“Since Master Parwyn has instructed me to do so, allow me to offer you tea. Be seated. The master will return shortly.”

Surprisingly, Dion and Cole seat themselves quietly on a bench. Cyrus doesn’t cause any further mischief, but stays by Dion. As Aramek serves them tea, Dion smiles at him sweetly and asks, “So, you’re the sorcerer’s apprentice huh? You have any of those walking broomsticks like in the old stories?” Cole chuckles at this, but Aramek can tell that part of this question is a gibe and part of it is genuine curiosity.

Deadpan, Aramek says, “I lent my animated broom to Sgt. Apone at the barracks, but I’ve got some very accurate flying daggers upstairs that can hit a living target at 20 yards away if you’d like to see them.”

Cole’s eyes go wide at this. Dion’s eyes narrows and he says, “Is that a…” before he can finish however a flaming torch is hurtled through the open window and lands in the middle of the shop, “Norebo’s dice bag!” yelps Dion.

Quick as a flash, Aramek yells, “Sorch-mano!” The bowl of monkey piddle lifts itself up into the air and douses the torch with its contents.

Outside they hear screams and shouting. Dion whips out his dagger and moves to the entrance. “It’s a riot!” he shouts excitedly back to Cole. Cyrus jumps up and down gleefully at his side. Cole, however, is moving away from Aramek slowly, more uneasy about the young sorcerer than unnerved or excited by the violence outside. 

Aramek looks outside over Dion’s shoulder and sees that running up and down the street are enraged Olman, the dark haired, reddish-brown tribal people from the Amedi Jungle who had been kept as slaves by the Sea Princes and then the Scarlet Brotherhood and who currently languish free but in dire poverty in Westkeep, many of them refugees from other parts of the Hold of the Sea Princes. Most are in rags, but a few of the young men are wearing boiled hides and wielding clubs and torches. They are shouting in their own language, looting, tossing torches into shops and houses, and attacking anyone out in the streets. A haze of smoke covers the sky, and the terrified screams of the townspeople fills the air along with the chanting and wild war cries of the Olman.

One Olman rioter is about to hurl another torch at Parwyn’s shop, but this time Aramek stops him with the Magic Missile that had been on the tip of his tongue ever since Dion and Cole had entered the shop. The arcane bolt zooms past Dion’s shoulder, causing the young punk to shout and duck away, and then it smacks the torch right out of the hand of the Olman who screams in shock and surprise, but then bends down to grab it up again.

“The hell he will!” cries Cole, who then launches himself at the rioter and clocks him in the jaw with a vicious uppercut. The would-be-arsonist falls to the ground and does not rise, but three of his friends shout and charge at Cole.

“Cole you dolt! Look out!” Dion yells. “Ah shit!” Dion steps away from the doorway and pulls out a slingshot from his leather jacket and then fires off a stone at one of the attackers, but the shot goes wild. One of the three Olman, however, veers off towards Dion. Before he gets there, Dion’s monkey, Cyrus, jumps down into the gutter and begins hurling the odious muck at the Olman. This doesn’t stop him, but neither does it improve his temper. Then the Olman are upon the two young punks, who are hard put to duck and weave away from the rioter’s clubs.